Crouching down beside Raj’s body he reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from his face. As he stared down at the serene face his heart wrenched and a choking sob broke from his throat. Awful as he felt about not being able to save Raj, he couldn’t help but feel more grief at losing Jane. He closed his eyes and let the memories of her come flooding back into his mind; memories he’d repressed since the end of their affair.
Jane, eyes wide with awe as she stood, staring out over the city from the top of the London Eye. Jane, laughing with abandon at the Marx Brothers when he’d taken her to a National Film Theatre screening of Horse Feathers. Jane, her face illuminated with soft candlelight, gazing at him lovingly across the table in their favorite restaurant in Soho. His fingers tracing the line of her cheek as she lay beneath him the first time they’d made love. The petulant tilt of her chin when he’d said something that displeased her.
So many memories jostling for space in his mind. How could he have let her go? Why did he let the work they shared come between them? He realized suddenly that he had wasted much of his life. It was a crushing thought, but a true one. Priorities. He’d always made them, shuffling the elements of his life into a certain running order. As their relationship continued, and he started to feel comfortable and secure in it, he’d let her slip down that list of priorities and allowed other elements to take her place. And as he let her slip through his fingers, she’d been easily seduced by the attention of someone else — her husband.
The others stood back in the doorway, allowing him this private moment.
It was McKinley who took charge. He instructed Kirby to copy what ever images and sounds were on the laptop so they had backup records. It gave him great pleasure to tell Bayliss to make coffee for them all, and after what had happened he wasn’t surprised he got no resistance.
In the library McKinley helped Carter move Raj’s body. For want of any better ideas they rolled it in a Persian rug and laid it as gently as they could on a couch.
‘Let’s go get that coffee,’ McKinley said.
‘I’m not sure…’
McKinley clasped a large hand on Carter’s shoulder. ‘It wasn’t an idle suggestion. You need to be with the others.’
Carter half nodded, half shrugged and followed the big man out, through the hallway, and into the bar area.
Bayliss had four mugs of coffee lined up on the bar counter. Kirby was warming her hands on one of them.
Carter walked across to her. ‘How’s your face?’ There were a few cuts and scratches on her cheeks and her forehead was coated in blood.
Kirby attempted a smile but it looked more like a grinning Halloween mask. ‘How could Jane kill Raj?’
He walked behind the bar, wet a clean cloth with cold water, and then began to wipe the blood from her face. ‘It wasn’t Jane…not consciously.’
Kirby leaned her face to one side so he could finish cleaning her up. ‘Is she dead?’
Carter laid the cloth down on the counter and picked up one of the coffees. ‘There, that’s as good as new.’
Bayliss was seated at one of the tables, spinning his finger in a warm wet circle made by his mug. ‘He can’t answer your question because he doesn’t know.’
Carter led Kirby across to a chair near Bayliss and motioned for McKinley to join them.
When all four were seated Carter said, ‘We’ve heard your story, Bayliss. Now it’s my turn to tell you what I know.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Carter wrapped his hands around the mug of hot coffee and looked at the faces staring at him. He had no idea what they were expecting from him. They were going to be told a mixture of speculative conjecture based on what he had read, facts extracted from his recent research, and intuition. Personally he trusted the last one the most but doubted they would share his faith.
Kirby looked younger than ever; almost like a child waiting for her father to tell a favorite story, only Carter wasn’t sure this time there would be a happy ending. McKinley was impassive, his strong features seemingly relaxed, although Carter could tell by the pulses at his throat and temple that he was struggling to keep his emotions inside. Only Bayliss seemed relaxed, smiling as he breathed in the aroma of his coffee.
Carter took a sip of his drink, breathed out through his nose and summoned his thoughts. ‘Judaism originated in Israel about four thousand years ago; Christianity, both Protestant and Catholic, takes a lot from Judaism. Incidentally so does Islam.
‘Jews believe there is only one God, who created the Universe, and keeps it going for all time. God has always existed, and always will. God cannot be seen or touched but can be reached through worship. God chose the Jewish people as his special people and to be an example to the world.
‘Judaism doesn’t have any set doctrines, or creeds; it’s a religion that follows Torah which is guidance from God found in the scriptures. Humans are made in the image of God, and should try to seek holiness in everything they do every day.’
Bayliss caught Carter’s gaze and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘There’s a point to this?’
Carter ignored him. ‘All Jews have an affinity to Israel, the land God promised to Abraham and to the holy city of Jerusalem. Jews are divided according to their beliefs and practices and also to their racial origins; some, the Ashkenazi Jews, having roots in central Europe, and others from Spain and the Middle East, the Sephardic Jews.
‘DeMarco was a Sephardic Jew.’
Bayliss snorted in derision. ‘There’s no evidence for that.’
‘None that you found,’ Carter said quietly.
Bayliss placed his mug untidily on a small side table and stood. ‘I’ve researched him for years and there are no suggestions that he was anything other than Spanish. Spain has a rich history of explorers and in his way that’s what deMarco was about. Only he took it to extremes.’
‘I haven’t said he wasn’t Spanish. Sit down and let me continue. I admire the work you’ve done, you told me things I hadn’t pieced together, but accept that I have an advantage.’
McKinley laughed, a gentle bass rumble. ‘He means his psychic ability.’
‘It allows him to get into corners ordinary research can’t reach,’ Kirby said.
When Bayliss was seated again Carter began speaking. ‘During the time of the Spanish Inquisition Jews living in Spain were persecuted for their faith. To continue living there many of them lived a double life of pretending to be Catholics but secretly practicing their real religion in private. Because Catholicism was considered the one true faith many Jews became conversos, people who actually converted to Catholicism but still practiced Judaism underground. Those who refused conversion were tortured and killed.
‘Those who converted but secretly maintained their true faith were called Marranos. In Spanish this means pig; it’s taken from the Arabic muharram, which means ritually forbidden, based on the Jewish, and Muslim of course, habit of not eating pork.
‘Many Jews did actually convert to Christianity but they were never fully accepted. The conversos on the surface were practicing Catholics; they went to Mass, but didn’t embrace the faith. They still ate no pork, celebrated Passover, and gave oil to the synagogue. The Marranos employed a man to slaughter the animals, drain away the blood and deliver the meat, and another man to secretly perform their circumcisions.
‘The large numbers of the conversos, and especially their wealth and influence naturally aroused the envy and even the hatred of the Spanish Catholic population. The New Christians, those who actually converted, were hated the most, but all the Marranos were persecuted. In the fifteenth and sixteenth century there were many attacks and riots because of religious bigotry.’